


The Poet and The Archivist

by Archivist_Essa



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Divergent, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Georgie Barker/Melanie King mention, I Love You, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Love Confession, M/M, Minor Angst, Sasha James/Tim Stoker mention, fluffy fluffy fluff, local genius knows everything except how to tell Martin Blackwood he loves him, stupid idiots don't know how to say words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23276053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archivist_Essa/pseuds/Archivist_Essa
Summary: Jonathan Sims needs a nap. And a plan to deal with the next problem the Primordial Fears throw at him. But more importantly, he needs to work out what to do about his rapidly increasing crush on Martin. And if he doesn't do it soon, his assistants might just make a move for him...
Relationships: Georgie Barker & Jonathan Sims, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 40
Kudos: 293





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of *feelings* about these boys and the things they deserve. Namely: better.

"End recording."

Jonathan put a hand over his face as he clicked off the tape recorder and sank back into his chair. The chair was not comfortable but he was too tired to notice. Recording statements took so much out of him every time. He was so exhausted that it took three attempts for him to register the knock at his office door. 

"Um, yes? Come in?" 

The door creaked open and a hand holding a mug entered the room. Not on its own, thank goodness, it was quickly followed by the arm, and body it was attached to. Jon sighed and felt his shoulders relax a bit as the familiar blonde shaggy hair came into view at last and Martin sat the cup gently down on his desk. 

"I brought you a cup of tea," he said, somewhat cautiously as though he knew he was stating the obvious but he wasn't sure what else to say. 

"Thank you, Martin," Jon smiled at him weakly. 

"Are you alright?" he looked concerned. 

"Yes, I'm fine. Or I will be in a minute, I was just-" 

"Recording a statement. Yeah, I figured. You always look like this after you finish a statement. Sort of grey, like a colouring book version of you that hasn't been filled in yet." Martin looked him in the eyes for a moment and Jon caught a brief flash of the blush creeping over a freckled nose before he shot his gaze back to the floor. 

" I, um," Jon faltered. He hadn't realised Martin was watching him so much that he'd notice things. Maybe he was just more observant than he looked. Good lord, he was bad at this, why was he always so bad at this? Give him a demonic clown or a woman made of worms any day over having to converse with someone he… With Martin. 

The silence hung between them, heavy with thoughts neither man could express. Eventually, Martin broke it. 

"So what was this one then?" he asked, gesturing at the tape recorder. "Killer tube train? Feet eating shoe shops? I had an interesting one last week about an encounter this woman had with a guy and his head was a literal pumpkin, you know like the headless horseman or something. Except he wasn't on a horse, but she did mention a motorbike at one point and-"

"It was a Leitner actually," Jon interrupted the flow of Martin's rambling. Which definitely wasn't cute. And neither was the way the tips of his ears had gone pink. 

"Another Leitner? What was it this time? One we know?" 

"No, a new one. A dictionary, but a specific dictionary. More of a collection of descriptions really. For weaponry. Any weapon you can think of, it's got a listing in this book. And apparently, you can use it to manifest them. Mr Emerson found it to be… useful at first. I gather his line of work is unsavoury." Jon frowned. 

Martin cocked his head on one side, his mind clearly whirring with possible implications and theories.

"Woah. I mean, any weapon? He could have started a nuclear war!" 

"That… is a good point actually, Martin, I hadn't considered that. Fortunately I don't think we need to be concerned about that any longer. It appears that Mr Emerson disposed of the book in his local lake after a rival of his used it against him. Along with the body of said rival." Jon picked up the tea and cradled the mug in both hands. 

"Gosh." Martin looked shocked. It was funny how, no matter how many odd things they saw in the institute, Martin was always shocked by them. Especially by the violence of human beings.

"Did you need something, Martin?" Jon asked, gently trying to change the subject. 

"No, no, not really. I mean I wanted to- but it's not important." Martin ran a hand through his hair and shifted his weight onto one foot. 

"No, go on, what was it you wanted?" 

"Well I just, um, it's err… It's my birthday tomorrow? And well I'm not really, parties aren't my thing, but a couple of drinks at the pub, and well, Tim, and Sasha, and Basira, and Melanie, maybe even Daisy and you could ask Georgie too if you wanted so…" Martin trailed off. 

" Are you asking me to come for a drink with you and the others to celebrate your birthday?" Jon raised an eyebrow. 

" Yes. Um yes, I am." Martin nodded quickly. "Only if you want to, though, obviously," he added. 

Jon took a deep breath to cover his racing heartbeat, which he was certain that Martin must be able to hear. _Cool and collected, Sims. Don't be ridiculous. It's birthday drinks and he's invited the whole office. It's normal. Just calm down_. 

"Yes, Martin, I would very much like to join you to celebrate your birthday tomorrow."

"Oh. Oh!" Martin's smile was sudden and brilliant, and Jon thought to himself that he would do just about anything to make him smile like that. "that's great! Okay then. We're just going to head to the Fisherman's Point at around 6 ish tomorrow? After work though so we'll probably just walk over as a group anyway."

"Excellent. I… I look forward to it." Jon couldn't help the small smile that tilted the corners of his mouth ever so gently upwards. 

"Great. Okay then, " Martin repeated. "I'll leave you to it, err enjoy the tea." 

Jon nodded at him as the tall, blonde man turned and left, almost knocking over a stack of files on his way out. And if his heart skipped a beat as he thought about spending a whole evening trying to make Martin smile, he certainly wasn't going to acknowledge it. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Nice shirt by the way, boss.” 

Tim’s once over was not even slightly subtle and Jon bristled. It  _ was _ a nice shirt. He was sure it was a nice shirt because it had been the only one he hadn’t absolutely hated when he tried on every shirt in his wardrobe that morning. This shirt, the olive green one with the missing top button, was maybe not the most polished thing he owned. But he hadn’t wanted to seem too polished anyway, that felt wrong for a birthday drink at the pub. And if the green happened to bring out his eyes just right, and he’d maybe sort of noticed Martin staring at the way the open top button left his clavicle on show the last time he wore it to the office, well then. That was a coincidence, obviously. 

“Thank you, Timothy.”

“No, really, colour looks good on you, boss. I didn’t even know you owned anything not in grey or black or brown.” Tim’s grin was widening by the second and Jon was starting to regret his choice to come along at all. 

“Leave off, Tim, not everyone with a pulse wants to be flirted at,” Sasha interjected, swatting at him playfully to punctuate her point. 

“Oh, well then, I suppose you  _ don’t _ want me to buy you a drink then?” Tim retorted, grabbing her hand as it swung towards his shoulder a second time and pulling her away to the bar. 

Jon stared at his beer miserably. This was not going well. He’d barely managed more than a gruff “Happy Birthday” at Martin so far, and for his part Martin had been mostly absentmindedly smiling at everyone  _ but _ Jon. Georgie and Melanie had not-so-subtly snuck away after the first hour, holding hands like it was  _ easy _ and  _ simple _ , and Jon  _ hated _ them for it. Not actually, of course, he was happy that they were happy. But he just didn’t understand how they’d done it, and more importantly what he could do to make it happen for him and Martin. 

The alcohol was clearly getting to him, he hadn’t meant to think that. He was still denying he had any kind of feelings for Martin that bordered on affection.  _ Wasn’t he? _

“I like it, for the record,” a small voice piped up, closer than he’d expected it to be. Jon jumped. 

“Sorry?”

Martin looked up from his own drink, and repeated himself. “I like it. Your shirt.”

“Oh,” Jon said.  _ Eloquent. Idiot.  _ “Thank you.”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you before, you looked uncomfortable anyway, I didn’t want you to think you had to talk to me or anyone really or feel under pressure or something, I dunno, I just um-”

“Martin,” Jon interrupted, fondness filling his voice despite himself. “I  _ want  _ to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Martin said. 

And then he smiled. The same, brilliant, blinding smile that pierced Jon’s heart right to his very core. Jon became very aware that they’d shuffled closer to hear each other over the noise of the pub. He became very aware that at some point Daisy and Basira had also left, and that Tim was now snogging Sasha over by the bar. He became very aware that he could count the freckles over Martin’s nose. 

“97”

“What?” Martin’s eyes shifted into a slightly darker hue of blue as confusion blinked into them. 

“You have 97 freckles on your nose,” Jon clarified. His hand brushed, feather-light over the top of Martin’s on the table. Martin jumped. Jon pulled his hand back, sharply, the spell broken. He sat back, suddenly needing to put space between himself and the shattered  _ almost _ next to him. “I should get going,” he declared. 

“Oh,” Martin said. Jon hadn’t realised a single sound could hurt that much. 

“It’s getting late,” he said. 

“Right.”

“I had a nice time. Thank you for the invitation.” Jon shrugged on his coat and pulled the edges around himself tightly. 

Martin stood up and then hovered awkwardly. A hug wasn’t the right move, but a handshake felt horribly formal now. 

“I’m glad you came,” he settled for pathetically. 

Jon faltered. He should just leave. He should walk out the door and leave. He should.

He doesn’t. 

Instead, in one single move, he grabs Martin’s hand and presses his lips to his knuckles gently. 

“Happy birthday, Martin.”

Then he turns and practically runs out of the door into the cold London night, leaving an open mouthed Martin behind him. 


	3. Chapter 3

“What the  _ fuck, _ Jon?”

“Hello Georgie, it’s nice to see you too,” Jon quipped back at the ginger haired ball of fury standing over his desk. 

“Please explain to me why  _ exactly _ you did not take full advantage of the carefully engineered alone time you were given with Martin Blackwood last night, and instead chose to  _ kiss his hand like a knight with a damsel in distress and then run away _ .”

Georgie was a formidable woman at the best of times, but right now even Daisy would have crumbled into dust in the face of the look she was levelling at Jonathan Sims. As it was, Jon’s protest had died on his lips and he was instead left a stuttering mess. It was significantly less endearing than when Martin did it. 

“We all disappeared early, left Sasha and Tim in charge of making sure you didn’t also leave, created the  _ perfect _ environment for you to make a god damn move already, and you  _ literally ran away _ !”

“I-I- I didn’t- You- what?” Jon 

“You thought we didn’t know?” Georgie laughed then. Threw her head back and  _ cackled _ . “You poor pathetic man, you thought you were being subtle didn’t you? Oh my god, that’s  _ hilarious _ .”

“Hey! I-”

“You are not subtle, Jonathan Sims. You are many things. Handsome, an insomniac, a neat freak, and too clever for your own good. But you are not subtle. We’ve all known you have feelings for Martin for  _ months _ . And obviously, Martin’s crush on you has been common knowledge for about 2 years so-”

“Two  _ years _ ?!” Jon finally cut her off. His face was a snapshot of shock. If you looked up “horrifying revelation” in the encyclopedia, you would find a picture of Jon’s face in that moment. “He’s li- Martin’s had feelings for me for  _ two years?!” _

“Yes,” Georgie replied simply.

“I have to, I should- oh my god, I’m an idiot,” Jon plunged his head into his hands. 

“Yes,” Georgie repeated.

“What do I do, Georgie?” Jon pleaded from the depths of his fingers. 

“You smarten yourself up a little and in about,” Georgie checked her watch, “Two minutes and twelve seconds, you tell Martin that you are deeply in love with him too and that you would like to do something about that.” 

Jon’s head shot back up. “What?!”

“Well, if we timed this right, which we did, because we’re geniuses, then Sasha should have asked Martin to get something from the filing cabinet nearest the kitchen five minutes ago. Basira, from the kitchen, would have asked him where the tea bags were about four and a half minutes ago, and factoring in time for chatter and pushing him gently in the right direction, he would have started making you a cup of tea three minutes ago. Which means that in,” Georgie looked at her watch again, “One minute and 47 seconds you will hear a timid but familiar knock on your office door, at which point you can declare your feelings to a certain blond haired archival assistant.”

“Wha-”

“You’re welcome,” Georgie’s grin was wicked and wide. “Don’t mess it up this time, alright? You have no idea how much planning these set ups take.” She threw Jon one last toothy grin and then waltzed out of the door, whistling. 

It took exactly 0.02 seconds for Jon to start panicking. He really wished he didn’t have to Know that, but he did.  _ Okay, okay, this is fine. It’s fine. Just tell him you- oh god what do I say? I can’t just go from “thanks for the tea, Martin” to “I think I might be in love with you”! Shit, shit, oh god, oh fucking hell Georgie I’m going to kill you. Actually, I’m going to kill all of them. Two years and nobody thought to tell me?!  _

A knock on his door brought his train of thought to a fiery wrecking halt.  _ FUCK _ . The door creaked open, and a figure peered around it. 

“Um, Jon?”

“Yes, Martin,” he sighed. 

“I, um, I brought you a cup of tea?” The rest of Martin followed his head into the office, and his hand proffered a steaming mug towards Jon. 

“Thank you, Martin.” Jon took the mug. He was, in fact, so busy cursing himself, and everything in the universe that had left him in this position, that he wasn’t focusing on how he took the mug. And so it was that for the second time in 24 hours, Jon’s fingers brushed Martin’s.

Martin dropped the mug. It shattered on the carpet, hot tea flying everywhere. 

“OW!”

“Martin, oh my god, are you alright?” Jon shot round his desk to Martin’s side, all of his nervousness forgotten in his attempts to check that the other man wasn’t horribly burned. 

“I’m okay, I think it was mostly shock, it sort of splashed me on the arm, but it’s not bad and-”

“Come on, we’ve got to get that under a tap,” Jon started pulling him out of the office towards the break room kitchen. 

“What about the mug?” Martin protested. 

“Forget it, I’ll clean it up later,” Jon insisted, tugging Martin along the corridor.

They reached the kitchen and Jon breathed a silent sigh of relief that it was empty of anyone else. Turning on the tap, he gestured for Martin to hold out his arm. Martin did so, and Jon slowly started to roll up the sleeve of his jumper. Martin flinched. Jon stopped. 

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s fine,” Martin took a shaky breath. 

“Alright, then,” Jon went back to his task, rolling up Martin’s sleeve until the majority of his forearm was exposed. A small red patch near his wrist highlighted the worst of it, but just to be safe, Jon started running the cold water. Taking Martin’s fingers in his own, he guided the other man to hold his wrist under the tap. He wasn’t sure if the temperature of the water or the contact between them was what made Martin gasp. He didn’t know how to ask. 

“Is that better?” he settled for. 

“Yes, thank you,” Martin smiled a little, “Much better.”

“I’m sorry about the tea, I’m sure it was lovely,” Jon commented. 

“It’s fine, Jon, it’s just tea. I can make you another one.”

“That’s good, because I can’t get it right,” Jon had, a tad reluctantly, released Martin’s fingers to rummage for a bandage in the first aid kit below the sink.

“What do you mean? It’s just tea, it isn’t rocket science. And honestly, you could probably manage rocket science now, right? Can’t you just Know how to make it?” Martin sounded confused. 

“It isn’t that I don’t know how to make tea, I know all how the physical process goes,” Jon replied from under the sink, “It’s just that it never tastes as nice as it does when you make it,” he finished, emerging triumphantly with a bandage. 

Martin’s face was a shade one could only describe as ‘tomato red’. Jon faltered. 

“Are you alright?”

“You can’t just  _ say _ things like that, Jon, it’s- well, it’s not fair, alright?” Martin spluttered. 

“Say things like what?” Jon frowned. 

“That tea tastes better when I make it! Do you have any idea how that sounds?” Martin sounded pained now. 

“How does it sound, Martin?” Jon asked, his voice soft as he drew closer to the other man. 

“It sounds, it- it makes it sound like the reason you like my tea better is  _ because _ I make it,” Martin admitted, not making eye contact. “Which is ridiculous, obviously,” he added quickly. 

“Is it?” Jon started unwrapping the bandage. 

“Yes! It is!” Martin declared, voice squeaking slightly. “Of course it is! Because that would imply some sort of- well it would mean that you…” he trailed off. 

Jon picked up the tea towel from the counter and dried Martin’s wrist gently. Neither of them spoke while he wrapped it in the bandage he’d found, the only sound the gentle rush of water. When he’d finished, Jon reached over and turned off the tap. 

“Better?” He asked. 

“Yes,” Martin nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Martin.”

The moment hung between them, heavy and full of unspoken things.  _ Now or never, Sims. Come on, man. Georgie’s going to kill you if you muck this up a second time. _

“Martin-”

“Jon- oh, sorry, go on. You first,” Martin tilted his head at him. Jon shivered.  _ This would be so much easier if your eyes didn’t feel like they could see my soul, Martin Blackwood. _

“I, um, I wanted to apologise. For last night, I mean,” he began. “I shouldn’t have left, like that.”

“Oh.” Martin’s eyes flicked to the floor and he sounded utterly crushed.  _ Crushed? That’s not right, fuck.  _ “That’s alright, I understand.”

“Not to disagree with you, Martin, but I don’t think you do.”

Martin lifted his eyes again, tentatively. “You’re saying you regret what you did before you left.”

“No.”

“No?” 

“No.” Jon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I am truly terrible at this, Martin, and I’m very sorry, but allow me to make myself as clear as possible. I am not apologising for kissing your hand, I am apologising for leaving after I did that. I’m saying-” he broke off.

“Go on,” Martin breathed. 

“I’m saying I wish I’d stayed. I wish I’d- Oh fuck it, I wish I’d done this.” 

“Done wh-MMMF”

Martin’s question was both extinguished and entirely answered by the firm locking of his lips with Jon’s, who had surged forward to kiss him. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a fierce, protective, soul wrenching kiss, the kind that only comes when two people have hearts so full for each other words won’t do anymore. Martin melted. His hands found Jon’s waist and he kissed him back, just as fiercely. They kissed each other like the other man was the only source of oxygen left in the world, and they had been suffocating for years. Jon’s hands were all over Martin, in his hair, on his cheek, clawing at him like he was trying to pull him close enough that they stopped being two separate people. Martin moved a hand to tangle into John’s increasingly messy locks, and gasped in sudden pain. Jon broke the kiss. 

“What, did I do something wrong? Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” 

“Jon, I’m fine,” Martin laughed, “I just brushed my wrist against your head and it hurt for a split second. I promise I’m fine,” he laughed again, a sound full of more joy than the Institute had heard in decades, “I’m more than fine.”

“Oh,” Jon spread a hand out on Martin’s chest and leant up to peck him on the lips again. “Good.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a comment! I love love love getting feedback!!!!

“Martin?” 

“Hmmm?” 

“I can’t feel my arm.”

The two of them were cuddled up in Martin’s bed. It had been three weeks, two days, nine hours, and twenty three minutes since their first kiss. Jon smiled to himself. That was worth Knowing. He was curled against Martin’s side, head resting gently on his chest, and his left arm slid under Martin’s back. Unfortunately, after an hour in that position, his arm had gone to sleep and he was starting to get pins and needles. 

“Oh, sorry,” Martin shuffled over to release the aforementioned arm and Jon sat up a bit, wriggling his fingers to try and get some of the feeling back. He glanced over at Martin. 

“What are you thinking?”

“Hmmm?”

“You’ve got that far away look again, what are you thinking about?” He lay back down again, head propped up on one hand. 

“I was just thinking about how nice this is,” Martin sighed contentedly. 

“It is,” Jon agreed, moving forward a bit to close the gap between them and give him a quick kiss. 

“See, that is the kind of thing I’m going to miss,” Martin sighed again as they broke apart. 

“Miss? I’m not going anywhere, Martin,” Jon frowned. 

“I know,” Martin replied but he didn’t sound convinced. 

“Martin.” Jon sat up, properly this time. “I don’t think you’re hearing me.”

“I’m not meaning to be a downer, Jon, but after three weeks you must have almost satisfied your curiosity, right?” 

“Martin, what on  _ earth _ are you on about?” Jon was really confused now. 

“Well, you know how I feel about you, you must know. Everyone else does. And don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved every second of this, but I don’t expect anything from you. I didn’t even expect this, so really it’s fine.”

Martin sounded so matter of fact. Like he’d resigned himself to this a long time ago. Jon wanted to shake him. Instead he just put one hand on either side of his face and forced him to look into his eyes. 

“Martin Blackwood, I am not dating you as an  _ experiment _ . I am not dating you because I’m  _ curious _ , or because I  _ pity _ you, or for any of the other reasons your bewilderingly mean brain has come up with. I am dating you because I love you, that’s it. I am not going anywhere. Okay?” 

Jon released Martin’s face. His jaw was hanging open. 

“What did you just say?” 

“I said I’m not going anywhere.”

“No, before that,” Martin looked like he’d been given first prize in a contest he hadn’t even entered. 

Jon paused and thought back.  _ Oh. _ He hadn’t  _ meant _ to say that, not yet anyway. But why not? It was true, wasn’t it? So why not say it? The world had robbed them both of enough already. So he leant his forehead against Martin’s and closed his eyes. 

“I said, I love you, Martin.”

Martin didn’t need to ask if he meant it. It radiated off him, like a wave. A tsunami of absolute adoration hit him in the chest, and it felt like truth. Like the truest thing in the universe. 

“I love you too, Jon. I love you too.” 


End file.
